


Britain's Morning Afters

by Pastaaddict



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net under the name Pastaaddict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-21 17:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastaaddict/pseuds/Pastaaddict
Summary: People do stupid things when drunk but no one can beat Britain.





	1. What Happens In Vegas!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : I don't own Hetalia.

 

  
  


** _**What Happens In Vegas** _ **

Britain's head felt like it was going to explode as he lay in the bed and his mouth felt like there had been a party in there and everyone had thrown up. He pulled the blanket from over his head, only to pull it back up when the light hit his eyelids and his head screamed in pain. He groaned.

"Oh, why won't the light just shut up?"

He inched the blanket down slowly as he adjusted to the light and that was before he even opened his eyes. He shut them almost immediately and squeezed them tight as the contents of his stomach threatened to part company with extreme prejudice. He swallowed hard and, when he felt ready, opened his eyes again. The room he saw looked like a hotel room and then he remembered. It was the World Meeting in Las Vegas and he had gone drinking with several other nations but he did not remember much after the first hour and a half. Gingerly, he sat up, closing his eyes and groaning, dropping his head into his hands.

"What was I drinking last night?" he moaned. He opened his eyes and looked down at himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and then he took another look. He was wearing a T-shirt with the Stars and Stripes on the front. Where did he get this piece of Americanism? This was something America would …...

He looked around the room again and spotted the leather bomber jacket with the big 50 on the back of it, thrown over a chair and realised that this was America's hotel room. Why would he be in America's room? He ran his hands through his hair and dislodged something that fell onto the pillow. He turned, picked it up and examined it. It was America's glasses, the ones he called Texas.

Why did he have Texas on his head?

He felt movement under the covers and realised that there was a lump in the bed next to him as it moved and groaned, a familiar voice coming from under the blanket.

"Oh man!" said America's voice. "I must've had one hell of a party last night! I feel like I've been eating Britain's cooking." Britain stared down at the lump, offended.

“Oh, is that right, you git!”

The blanket was pulled down and Nantucket appeared, followed by the rest of America's golden head, his blue eyes bleary and out of focus. He sat up, the blanket falling from his bare chest and looked round, spotting Britain and tried to focus on his face. Britain put Texas on his nose and America was able to see clearly.

"Britain," he said in surprise. "Whatcha doing here, dude?"

"It's 'what are you' not 'whatcha', git," Britain said, tersely at the English language being butchered. "And I don't know! I don't remember much after the first hour or so in the bar." They looked at each other, then lifted the blanket and looked down. Britain realised he was not wearing underwear and America realised he was not wearing anything. They stared back at each other, each thinking the same thing.

"We didn't, did we?" America went pale.

"I don't remember," Britain replied with a hint of panic. Britain and America continued to stare at each other and then America's head dropped to his hands as he groaned. Britain propped his elbow on the bedside table and facepalmed. That was when he spotted the document.

He picked it up and read it, going as white as a sheet as he took in the contents, groaning and America looked up.

"What's that?" he asked, looking at the paper in Britain's hand. Britain handed it to him, with a stunned expression while America read the paper.

"Marriage licence!" America blurted and shook his head. "No way this happened, dude! No way!" Britain groaned again.

"How could this possibly get any worse?" he declared while America stared at the licence with both of their human names on it as if he could make it disappear by force of will. He frowned

"There's another name here," he said, staring at the paper.

"Witness?" Britain asked. America shook his head.

"Another groom," he replied. Britain frowned.

"That's not even legal!" he exclaimed. "What's the name?" America peered at the name and looked like he was going to faint.

"No!" America gasped. "Oh no! Oh Hell, no!" The blanket between them moved and another head rose above the sheets. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, stubbly beard.

"Oh," France said, sheepishly. "Bonjour!"

The screams of Britain and America could be heard in London and New York!

 


	2. Tattoo Hullabaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another drunken escapade with Britain getting a permanent reminder of this one.

 

  
  


** _**Tattoo Hullabaloo** _ **

Arthur Kirkland AKA Britain did not often drink with his older brother, Allistor Kirkland AKA Scotland because, when he did, nine times out of ten, something usually went disastrously wrong but at first, as Arthur woke up after spending the day and night with his big brother, aside from the inevitable hangover, nothing untoward seemed to have happened this time. Of course, he had very little memory of the day before, although he had a vague memory of Allistor passing out on his sofa, so he was not going to speak too soon.

Groaning, he rose from his bed, still in his clothes from the day before and holding his head with one hand, trying to stop his brain from spilling out of the split he was sure was cracking his skull in half and his other hand on his stomach in the hopes of keeping what his stomach contained, in. He staggered to the bathroom, staring into the bathroom mirror at his paler than usual face with his dulled green eyes, the shadows under them almost as big as the eyebrows above that were almost hidden by his blonde hair falling down over his forehead. He was looking a little green around the gills and then the contents of his stomach would no longer be denied and he dashed for the toilet.

After giving his offering to the Great Porcelain God, Arthur flushed the toilet and got back to his feet, moaning. Why, oh why did he do this to himself? He liked a drink but he was a lightweight drinker and he always paid for it next day.

He decided to have a shower and hoped it would help him feel better or, at least, cleaner and he began to strip. His shirt fell to the floor and he began to remove his trousers and underwear when he felt the waistband of his underpants rub against something on his lower back. He turned his head as far as he could and looked and he could just about see some medical wadding taped to his lower back on the right hand side.

_ What the hell is that? _ Arthur wandered back to his room where there was a full length mirror and he would be able to see exactly what was under the wadding. He gingerly peeled the tape away from his skin and removed the wadding.

What he saw made him scream!

* * *

Allistor was all limbs, flung about every which way on the sofa in his little brother's living room as he snored away the day before as if his body knew what it would be facing when he woke up and was delaying that moment for as long as possible but the alcohol induced snooze was rudely interrupted when...

"ALLISTOR, YOU WANKER! WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HOLY BLOODLY HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO ME THIS TIME?!"

Allistor came to with a startled jerk that sent him crashing from the sofa to the floor where he stayed for a moment, groaning, more from his hangover than actually hitting the ground. What was the wee bugger's problem this time? Allistor could not think of anything he had done recently that warranted that kind of verbal abuse from his …...

Then the events of the day before slammed their way back into Allistor's head. He had gone out for lunch with his little brother and had a few too many drinks, dragging Arthur home while neither one was entirely sober, Arthur more drunk than he, when they passed a …...

Oh shite!

The red-headed Scottish Nation staggered to his feet and trudged wearily up the stairs to his brother's bedroom and went in to find his brother with his back to the mirror, looking at the red raw tattoo just above his right buttock, of a heart with a waving Union Flag and Star-Spangled Banner on either side. As Arthur turned to glare at him, Allistor realised that the tattoo was not even the worst of it.

* * *

_ _ The day before ….. _ _

Arthur had been in a better mood of late, not that you could tell if you did not know how to read him but Allistor, who was a bigger tsundere than his little brother, could read Arthur like a book and Allistor knew that the change was down to Arthur finally kicking the flamboyant, but philandering, Francis Bonnefoy AKA France to the kerb and confronting his true feelings for the energetic, child-like, sometimes annoying but could-only-be-more-faithful-than-Francis, Alfred F Jones AKA the United States of America.

Arthur's relationship with Francis could only be described as on-off and it had been going on for centuries, with them constantly getting back together but Francis's roving eye always spoilt things. His excuse was he was the Country of Love and he could not help but spread that love but Allistor believed that Francis was just allergic to fidelity but Arthur always took him back after a few years had passed, despite Allistor warning him that the French Nation would do it to him again and he felt like he was beating his head against a brick wall until a few weeks ago.

Arthur caught Francis putting the moves on Matthew Williams AKA Canada at the last World Meeting, not that Matthew was receptive as he knew that Francis was seeing Arthur but Francis did not let the fact that he was supposed to be in a relationship interfere in his pursuit of the Canadian Nation. That is, until they were caught by Arthur, just as Alfred walked in, slurping a soda.

"AGAIN!" Arthur yelled, his eyes filling up at this latest betrayal. "You can't be faithful for five minutes, can you! Well, I've had it! We're through and I mean it this time, you wanker!" Alfred's teeth clenched. Francis had hurt Arthur again! Did he not realise just how lucky he was to have someone like Arthur for his boyfriend when so many would kill to have the Brit by their side? Alfred had loved Arthur for so long now and would jump at the opportunity to be his lover but the hot-cold, yes-no relationship of Arthur and Francis had gotten in his way once too often and he was going to seize his chance while he could and prove to Arthur that he would always treat him better than the Frenchman.

Arthur was storming away with Francis chasing after him, pleading his case.

"Non, Angleterre, please!" he begged. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have responded but Canada was throwing himself at me!" That lie did not go down well. Matthew gave a gasp of shock at the untrue accusation, Alfred gave a growl of anger at his brother being maligned and Arthur gave a snort of disbelief at the idea that Matthew would do such a thing when it was Francis with the track record and then Matthew did something no one expected. He grabbed Alfred's soda and tipped it over Francis's head who gave a girly cry of dismay at the destruction of his beautiful hair and ran off to hide himself. Arthur ran in the other direction to find somewhere to cry out his pain while Alfred turned to his brother and gave him a thumbs up.

"Good move, bro," he said. "I'm proud of you." Then he followed Arthur.

* * *

Alfred found him outside in the gardens of the conference building, in an out-of-the-way corner, sobbing and Alfred's heart broke for him. Arthur would always weep in private as he did not like people to see him like that and Alfred wanted to find Francis beat him to a bloody pulp for doing this to his beloved Arthur.

"Iggy, dude!" he called out. Arthur rubbed his eyes clear of tears and looked up but he eyes were still red-rimmed. "You okay?" Alfred winced inwardly at the inane question. Of course Arthur was not okay, not that he would admit it, of course.

"I'm fine," Arthur replied, right on cue but Alfred was not fooled. He was not as oblivious to the atmosphere as everyone thought he was and right now he could hear the hurt and betrayal in the Brit's voice. "And it's England, not Iggy!" Well, at least the tsundere-ness was intact.

"Dude, why do you keep going back to him?" Alfred asked. "Ya know he'll never change, right?" Arthur pondered the question. Why did he keep going back? Why did he always do it to himself? The truth was, Arthur was lonely and just wanted to feel loved and, while what Francis offered was only an illusion, it was better than nothing but the problem was that the illusionary bubble would burst under the slightest pressure and Arthur was always the one who ended up hurt.

What Arthur wanted more than anything was for this country before him to feel something for him. Arthur had always loved Alfred and even during the Revolutionary War, that feeling had never gone away which was why he had been unable to shoot when he had Alfred right where he wanted him but, after the dissolution of their brotherhood and the time they spent apart, when they came back together, Arthur's feelings had undergone a change. They were less brotherly and Arthur felt more romantic toward the handsome, blonde-haired, blue-eyed nation. From the tip of Nantucket, right down to the tips of his toes, Arthur was lost in love with every part of Alfred but Arthur could get no sense that Alfred felt the same and he would not approach the American Nation for fear of being rejected and covered the pain of unrequited love with the false notion that Francis offered deep and meaningful commitment, only to feel the pain of the betrayed and jilted.

"I just wanted to know that someone, anyone cared," he admitted, his feelings too raw to cover up. "That I was loved." Alfred's jaw dropped. This was how Arthur felt? That he was this lonely? And everybody thought that Alfred was clueless.

"Dude, you have no idea!" he replied. "You have so many people who care about you but you just don't see it. Your bros may have a funny way of showing it and they might never say but, dude, you're the most important person in the world to them, even when you're fighting with each other. Matthew cares about you too and what about your Magic Trio Friends, Norway and Romania? They could have been your rivals but instead they chose to be your friends. More people care about you that you realise, Iggy." Alfred stepped forward, wrapping his left arm around Arthur's waist and pulling Arthur against him, his right hand tilting Arthur's head up.

"And you are loved," Alfred whispered, huskily before lowering his lips to brush Arthur's before going in for a firmer kiss.

Arthur was surprised at Alfred's actions at first. Alfred loved him!  _ ALFRED LOVED HIM! _ His every dream had just come true and he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck to make sure he did not move from that spot and he realised that his days of illusionary affection were over. It was the real thing for him from now on.

* * *

"You know," Allistor said to his brother as they sat in the pub, three weeks later. "You're quite nauseating when you're in love but at least you're not with someone you know is going to break your heart." He swirled his whiskey around his glass before knocking it back and nodded to the landlord for another round. Ahhhh! You could not beat a good Scottish whiskey and you could find it almost anywhere, even the English pub they had met in for lunch.

"If only I'd known how Alfred felt a long time ago," Arthur replied, taking a sip of his own drink. "All that time I wasted with Francis when I could have been with someone who really did love me! Still, Alfred's all mine now."

"I'm very happy for you," Allistor drawled though, in truth, he was happy for Arthur. He knew his brother had not had much happiness in his life and Allistor knew he was part of that, being hard on Arthur in his younger years to toughen up the little Nation and he wondered if maybe he had gone a little too far sometimes. Allistor could only remember Arthur being truly happy when he first found Alfred. Now, Alfred was making Arthur happy again and Allistor wished the both of them the best of luck as he tossed back his next whiskey shot.

* * *

At three in the afternoon, a drunk Scot and an even drunker Englishman were strolling (if staggering could be called strolling) through the streets, back to Arthur's house, with Arthur trying to figure out if he was Catholic or Protestant (not this rubbish again) and then began singing 'God Save the Queen' and 'Land of Hope and Glory' in Allistor's ear while Allistor tried to drown him out with 'Scotland the Brave' and 'The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond'. They staggered around a corner and Arthur pulled them both to a stop in front of a shop façade and above the window were the words  _ The Ink Parlour.  _ Arthur peered through the window at all the tattoo artwork designs adorning the walls. He grabbed Allistor and wrapped his arm around his neck.

"I'm going to prove how much I love Alfred," he slurred, trying to wave his finger under Allistor's nose and almost poking him in the eye and then he dragged the intoxicated Scot into the tattoo shop.

* * *

The tattooist looked up as the door opened and a blonde and a red-headed man staggered in, trying to stay on their feet, both with a glassy look in their eyes. __These two are as pissed as farts at three o'clock.__ __They must have started early!__ he accurately assessed as they wove, side to side, over to his counter.

"What can I do for you gentleman?" he asked. The blonde one looked around and then back at him.

"Two battered cod and chips please," he slurred. The tattooist stared at him.

"This is a tattoo parlour," he replied. "Not a fish and chip shop."

"Then I'd like a tattoo please," the blonde said with a demented grin and a laugh that had the tattooist rolling his eyes. Apparently, being drunk did not stop this bloke from being a smart arse and he decided, as he had no customers at the moment, that he would give the man what he wanted and, if he regretted it when he sobered up ….well, it would teach him not to drink so much so early in the day.

"What kind of tattoo would you like?" he asked. "One of these …." He indicated to the designs on the walls. "...or your own design?"

"I want a heart!" the blonde declared. "And on one side of it, I want the British flag and on the other, the American flag. And in the heart itself, I want the words Arthur and Aaaargh..." The blonde fell backwards in a drunken heap. The red-head snorted.

"Yer need ta take more water with it, ya wee piss-head," he commented, his Scottish accent fighting with the intoxicated slur. The tattooist did not think that the red-headed Scotsman was far behind the blonde if he was honest.

"You want to get him into the chair," he said and the red head picked up the blonde and dumped him into the chair where the blonde landed face down and began snoring. The tattooist sighed. This was going to be fun.

"Where does he want this tattoo?" he asked. The red head snorted.

"He didn't say," he replied. "Stick it on his arse, I'm not moving him again." The tattooist sighed again and flattened out the chair. After pulling the blonde's trousers down enough to clear an area just above his right butt cheek, the tattooist sterilised the area and got to work.

* * *

Allistor fell asleep in one of the waiting chairs while the tattooist worked on Arthur and fell into a satisfying dream of pummelling Francis for all the times he broke Arthur's heart. The dream was rudely interrupted by the tattooist shaking him awake.

"Hey, mate," he said, giving Allistor another shake. "I've almost finished, now what did he wanted in the heart again. Arthur and what?" Allistor rubbed his face and said something without thinking about it. The tattooist nodded and went back to his work while Allistor drifted back to sleep. When the tattooist finished, he taped medical wadding over the tattoo and went to wake Allistor. The Scottish Nation groaned and stood up, swaying slightly and went to get Arthur. Arthur woke as Allistor pulled him out of the chair.

"Whaa?" Arthur muttered, still fairly out of it.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty," Allistor groaned. "Pay the man and we can get back to your house." He pulled Arthur's arm over his shoulder and dragged Arthur over to pay the tattooist for his work. After dropping his wallet twice, Arthur manage to finally pay the man and Allistor dragged both their still drunk carcasses home. Allistor staggered into the living room and passed out on the sofa while Arthur managed to zombie-walk up the stairs and collapsed on his bed, both sleeping like the dead, unaware that all Hell was going to break loose in the morning.

* * *

Arthur could not believe what he was seeing. The fact that he had a tattoo was enough to have him screaming but what the tattoo said …..even backwards in the mirror, he could understand the words.

"WHAT'S ALFRED GOING TO SAY?!" Arthur screamed. "HOW DO I EXPLAIN IT TO HIM?!" Allistor groaned, vowing never to drink again (Yeah, right!). When the tattooist had awoken Allistor for the second name, Allistor had said the name that was on his mind at the time so the words in the centre of the heart now said...

Arthur and Francis

It was quite some time before Arthur and Allistor went drinking together again.

 


	3. All At Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britain makes an unexpected return to his life on the ocean waves.

 

  


**_**All At Sea** _ **

"Aw, man!" America exclaimed. "That was one boring meeting! Well, except for when you chased France around the room with a pair of scissors, threatening to cut all his hair off. And Turkey and Greece fighting over who was going to steal Switzerland's peace prize so he couldn't beat Japan with it. And Canada kicking Russia in the butt when he tried to sit on him again, didn't think my bro had it in him. And when Romano took Italy's pasta and face-planted Spain in it. And …... ya know, it wasn't that boring, after all!"

"So, business as usual, then," Britain dead-panned as he put his papers in his briefcase. The World Meeting had just ended because, by some miracle, they were nearly finished when Germany was closed to an aneurysm. France quickly shoved his papers into his own case and left as fast as he could. As usual, France had shot out his 'Black Sheep of Europe' insult but he compounded it by mentioning the time Britain tried to grow his hair out and France had cut it all back off. Britain grabbed a pair of scissors from a nearby desk and grabbed a fist full of France's hair. France had managed to extract himself before damage could be inflicted and spent the next ten minutes evading the angry, scissor-welding Brit.

Prussia suddenly slammed into the two of them, wrapping an arm around each neck and pulled them in.

"Now that the unawesome is over," he announced. "It's time for awesome. Let's go for beer!"

"Yeah!" America agreed. His (government-created) ID said he was nineteen so, if they were in America, he would not be able to drink but they were in England where the minimum drinking age was eighteen so let the good times roll. "Time to kick back and chill! What da ya say, Iggy?"

"Don't call me Iggy!" he replied, tersely. Then he sighed. "Why not? It's time we shared a pint of two again. I know a good pub, down at the docks."

"Cool!" America cheered and called to the other countries in the room. "Hey guys! We're going to the pub, anyone wanna join us?" There were a few takers, including Russia.

"Da," he replied. "That sounds nice. It can be a good-bye before I return to Mother Russia." Britain sighed again at a quiet drink being turned into an impromptu party.

"All right," he conceded and turned to America and Prussia. "But I'm not getting drunk!" Britain had gotten drunk before but it usually did not end well and he was eager to avoid that this time. Of course, saying that to someone like Prussia was laying down a challenge that he could not resist.

* * *

How Prussia managed to slip extra alcohol to Britain without him noticing would forever be a mystery but a hour later after reaching _The Crow's Nest,_ near the dock, Britain was thoroughly drunk. He was draped over America's shoulder, fascinated with the feel of the fur collar of America's bomber jacket while Prussia kesesed at his success.

"This feels s(hic)oft." Britain slurred, running his hand along the collar and then rubbed his cheek on it to the amusement of Prussia who was filming it on his phone camera for blackmail material while America was feeling slightly uncomfortable at being drunkly nuzzled by Britain while Japan took entirely too many pictures of it.

"Iggy, dude," he said, trying to disengage from the clinging Brit. "I think it's time to take you home, you're positively drunk!"

"Positively!" Britain giggled. "Prositively... Protestant (hic) ….. Am I Protestant or Catholic? Oh, I don't know any more!" America put Britain's arm around his shoulder and he pulled the inebriated Englishman to his feet.

"Okay," he announced. "If you're debating your religion, it's definitely time to take you home." And he lead Britain outside, trying to keep him from falling over his own feet. They made it outside and America reached into his pocket to get his phone to call a cab, realising only then that his phone was still in the pub, in the possession of Canada. His phone battery had died and he wanted to call to check on Kumajirou so America lent him his phone and he forgot to give it back. America propped Britain against a wall, waiting a moment to be sure that Britain would stay upright.

"Don't move, Iggy!" he ordered. "I'll just my phone from Canada and then we're off." And he went back inside. Of course, when he came back out, Britain was nowhere to be seen. And would not be seen for some time.

* * *

 _'Come all ye young fellows that follow the sea! To me, weigh, hey blow the man down!'_ Britain sang at the top of his drunken voice as he staggered down by the dockside, the sight of the water taking him back to his pirate days. ' _And pray, pay attention and listen to me! Give me some time to blow the man down!'_ He wandered past a moored vessel, quite a large one, and walked into the gang plank. He staggered a little and then giggled, looking up at the ship.

"Permission to come aboard, sah!" he yelled, giving a drunken salute but received no answer so he took it as a yes and stumbled up the gang plank which, fortunately, had sidebars or he might have ended up in the water and, as we all know, Britain can't swim. (Former pirate that can't swim! I still can't get my head around that one!). He stepped onto the deck and tripped over a bollard. "Oops!" he giggled as he struggled back to his feet, standing for a moment and looking around the ship.

"AHOY, MY HEARTIES!" he cried but there was still no reply and he swayed a little before walking again. One step forward, two steps back and five to the right and failing to note the ship's flag of nationality as he went to the bow of the ship, stood on the railings, stuck his fist in the air and cried, "I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD, WOOHOO!", nearly falling overboard and then fell back on to the deck. After crawling back to his feet, he staggered back down the deck, suddenly lurched to one side and fell over some large coils of rope. He tried to climb back over but fell back down and promptly passed out. Ten minutes later, the crew returned from the local pub and readied the ship for casting off to make the tide or they would be stuck until the next one. None of them noticing the booze-soaked unconscious Brit behind the ropes.

And not a single word of English was spoken by any of them.

* * *

Oh, what had he been drinking last night?

Britain hated hangovers as much as the next person but he had never been so drunk that it felt like his bed was swaying the next morning but that was just how it felt. His bed also felt hard, his pillow felt rough and he must have kicked the covers off his bed because he felt cold and he had gone to bed in his clothes which, for some reason, felt damp. He opened his eyes a crack and immediately shut them as the light sent a shaft of white hot agony through his brain which did not help the nausea rolling around in his stomach.

Then he heard speaking but could not understand what was being said as his brain was not up to absorbing anything just now, in audio or vision, which was why he curled up in a painful ball when a ship's horn blasted though his head from above him.

Ship's horn?

Britain carefully opened his eyes to find himself lying on a wooden deck, sandwiched between a metal wall and some large coils of rope, one of which was the 'rough pillow' that his head was resting on. The smell of sea air assaulted his nostrils which, at any other time would have filled him with nostalgia but was, right now, making his nausea worse and he had a crick in his neck to partner the pounding in his head.

"Убедитесь, что якорная цепь обязательно!" someone shouted. "Если она скользит снова, капитан будет иметь головы!" _(Make sure the anchor chain is secure! – If it slips again, the captain will have our heads!)_ Britain shook his head. The language sounded familiar, although he did not understand what was said, but his brain was not up to recognising it. He managed to pull himself to the top of the pile of ropes to see men moving around the deck of the ship, doing various tasks and, to Britain's horror as he looked out at sea, there was no sign of any dock.

He was out at sea on a strange vessel. Bloody Hell, how had this happened?

The memory of the night before came crashing down on him. Bloody Prussia! Britain was going to kill the albino git and, if the rest of the Bad Touch Trio was involved, he was going to kill them too. Especially France! Then one of the sailors turned and spotted the blonde, bushy-eyebrowed, Brit draped over the rope pile, looking like death warmed up, cooled down then mircowaved.

"кто ты?" he asked in surprise. _(Who are you?)_ That was the moment Britain's stomach decided enough was enough and Britain dashed to the railings to give the contents of it to the sea. When he was finished he groaned, wiped his mouth and looked around again. Fluttering in the breeze was the flag of the ship's nationality and the horizontal strips of white, blue and red seemed to mock and laugh at him. He rested his head on the railing and groaned again. __Great!__ he thought. __Hungover at sea on a Russian ship and I've just thrown up in front of the crew! Could this possibly get any worse?__

"Доброе утро, товарищи!" came a new voice. "Что это все суета о, здесь?" _(Good morning, comrades! What is all the commotion out here?)_ Britain knew that voice. One of the sailors muttered something to the newcomer and Britain was almost afraid to look round.

"Britain!" the voice called, cheerfully. "How nice to see you again! I am wondering what you are doing on board my ship?" Britain turned to see Russia looking at him with his usual smile. His usual, _creepy_ , smile....Of course, it could get worse! Britain wanted to throw up again.

"My apologies, Russia," Britain replied as politely as he could, under the circumstances. "I was a little tipsy last night …..." Russia held up a finger.

"I was there, comrade!" he replied, waggling the finger. "I believe the Western expression is 'falling down drunk'?" Britain went red.

"Yes, well," he said with embarrassment. "In my inebriated state, I wandered on to your ship and passed out. I do apologise for any inconvenience caused and request that you drop me off at your next stop and I can make my way back home?" Russia waved his hands as if it was all nothing.

"There is no inconvenience, Britain," he replied. "I would be happy to play host while you are with us but I'm afraid we will not be making port until we reach Mother Russia in about, oh, two weeks." Britain went pale and it had nothing to do with his hangover.

"I'm stuck on this ship for two weeks!" he exclaimed. Oh yes, it could get worse! And worse! And worse! Russia went up to Britain and put his arm around the smaller Brit's shoulders.

"It's not so bad," he said, with a creepy rape-face and spreading dark aura. "That is plenty of time to become one!"

In a passing Norwegian fishing trawler, the captain tilted his head, then turned to his first mate and asked,

"Kan du høre skrik?"

_(Can you hear screaming?)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the Russian and Norwegian is wrong, I apologise here and now. And blame Google translate!


	4. What Happens in Vegas : Who's the Daddy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britain's about to face an unusual, life-changing and completely impossible situation.

_**What Happens In Vegas Revisited...Who's The Daddy?** _

It had been three months since the Vegas fiasco and neither Britain, America or France could remember anything about that night so Britain still could not look America in the face while he just went to his default setting with France (i.e. beating him up whenever France even looked like he was going to bring it up, usually helped by America who did not want to be reminded of it either).

Because of the very nature of the 'marriage', it was not legal anyway, to the relief of everyone involved and, as they were all drunk at the time, they all escaped bigamy charges. Frankly, the police were too busy laughing themselves into a coma over the situation to deal with the paperwork of three men who had done something extremely stupid while drunk but they got the name of the Vegas chapel who had knowingly performed the ceremony from the marriage licence, therefore violating the law while taking advantage of men clearly under the influence and the chapel could expect a police visit very soon once they got over the giggles enough to actually move. Britain, America and France all left the police station very red-faced.

Britain felt it was high time to talk about the elephant in the room with America and invited him for a drink to discuss what had happened and clear the air. It was awkward at first but eventually, as they talked it out, Britain and America began to feel easier with each other again. Then the Bad Touch Trio walked in. With France. So things were awkward again.

A few drinks later, nobody cared and, secure in the knowledge that there was no Vegas in Britain and, even if they managed to get to Greta Green, you could no longer just show up and get married there, Britain felt it was safe to get drunk.

Silly, silly Britain.

* * *

Britain hated hangovers yet he did it to himself every time. The pounding headache, the nausea rolling around his stomach, the horrible 'bottom of a parrot's cage' taste in his mouth and the worry that anything he did the night before was now online for everyone to see, laugh at and mock. He groaned and pulled the cover off his head, squeezing his eyes against the sudden light and blinding headache, thinking that he really must stop drinking. Like that would ever happen! Things looked up as Britain breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that he was in his own bed, alone. Maybe, this time, it would be just a hangover without any embarrassing situations.

He should be so lucky!

He threw the cover off him and eased himself into a sitting position with a moan and sat there for a moment with his head in his hands, waiting for the room to stop spinning and trying not to throw up. When he felt able to function without losing whatever the last thing he ate was, he looked up and toward the clock on his bedside table, showing that it was almost nine o'clock. That was when he noticed the other item beside the clock. It was a long stick-like item, sat on top of a box that Britain did not remember buying but, on the side of the box were the words _pregnancy test._ Britain stared at the box for a full minute, not believing that it could be there. After all, why would he have a pregnancy test in his house? Then he wondered, why was it open and why was the test sitting on top of the box so he leant over and looked at the little indicator on the side which clearly showed two lines.

_Positive!_

Britain reached out a rather shaky hand and picked the test up, bringing it close to his eyes to make sure it was not some hangover-induced hallucination but the two lines remained in plain sight. Why was there a positive pregnancy test in his house, on his bed side table? It could not be that he was…..No! That was not possible! He was a man! There was no way he could …... but then, he was also a nation and approximately half his population was female so could he be …...

No! Absolutely not!

He staggered to the bathroom and climbed into the shower to wash away the night before but he found his hand straying to his stomach, no matter how many time he told himself not to be so stupid. That could not be his pregnancy test but what was it doing in his house? Britain walked back into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and drying his hair with another and the first thing that caught his attention was the test which he eyed like a coiled snake. He dressed, trying to pretend it was not there but his eyes kept straying to it. Finally, he had had enough.

He picked up the test and looked at it again, trying to figure out a reason for its presence but when it yielded no answers, he picked up the box to see if that could give him any ideas and something rattled. He looked inside the box and found a second, unused test inside and an insane idea hit Britain. Part of his brain told him it was stupid but another part said it would clear things up once and for all and Britain decided he had nothing to lose. He felt like a real prat, using something any man would normally have little to no reason to use but, if it finally laid this piece of insanity to rest, well, he would be the only one who would know.

Britain sat on his bed, waiting for the test result to appear, wondering, if by some demented quirk of the universe he was …... pregnant (he could barely think it), what would he do? How would he reveal this to the other nations, if he chose to reveal it at all. Britain shook his head. There was no way he was pregnant, he was being unbelievably idiotic so he picked up the test and waited for that one line to appear to tell him what he already knew. That he was a man and that there was no way he could be pregnant. The one line appeared and Britain sighed with relief.

And when the second line appeared, he fainted and did not wake up for a hour.

* * *

"Oh holy, bloody, bollocking Hell!" Britain muttered as he paced his living room, desperately needing a whiskey but, no! That was not good for the baby! Baby! He could not believe this was happening but even worse, who was the father? If it was like a normal pregnancy, then the moment of conception was …..

Oh Hell, no!

Vegas! That stupid time in Vegas when he woke up married (kind of) to both America and France. None of them had any memory of what happened that night, who did what to who, if anything. That meant either America or France could be the father so it was a choice between a hyperactive man-child or …..gulp! …..France!

Once again, Oh Hell, no!

He really needed that drink! It might give him the courage to approach America and France about what happened that night, to ask if they remembered anything. He needed to know who the father of his child was. Bloody Hell, he was going to have either America or France in his personal life in a major way from now on. America's childlike chaos, Britain could only just about take and as for France …. Britain almost groaned. What was he going to do?

* * *

The next World Meeting was up and Britain decided to approach America and France then, bringing the positive pregnancy test with him to prove to the others that he was not joking as he still could not believe it himself but he still had no idea how to approach them. When he arrived, neither America nor France were there so Britain went to his seat to think about what he was going to say to them when they came. Somehow 'Excuse me, chaps but I think one of you knocked me up and I need to know which one of you is the father of my child' did not seem like the way to go. If it was not what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, Britain could have done with a drink.

France arrived, just as the meeting started so Britain could not get a quiet moment with him and America had yet to arrive. France did not look like his usually immaculately groomed self, not that he looked untidy, simply that he looked worn, like he had not slept in a few days. He had shadows under his eyes and he looked pale, leaving people to wonder if the French nation was ill. Twenty minutes into the meeting, America finally arrived but instead of bursting in like usual, proclaiming that The Hero had arrived, he gingerly opened the door and sheepishly walked to his seat with an apologetic look toward the speaker, in this case it was Japan.

"Kon'nichiwa, America-San," Japan greeted.

"Hi, Japan," America replied with a weak grin, not his usual killer-watt smile. "Sorry for interrupting ya, dude." Everybody expected Britain to give America a dressing down like usual but Britain was too preoccupied with his own thoughts about how to approach America and France to take America to task about his tardiness, America sat down and the meeting continued.

It soon became obvious to everyone that there was something different about the British, American and French nations. France was not pestering Britain, Britain was not insulting France or America and America was quiet. All three looked like they had not been getting a lot of sleep and no one saw Spain and the meeting-crashing Prussia look at each other, Spain looking worried while Prussia was suppressing a grin.

Britain noticed how out of character America and France were acting and wondered if something was bothering them and if he should put off confronting them about the consequences of Vegas but he needed closure on this so he could decide what to do next so postponing was not an option. He was coming to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father …. mother ….. whatever but who was going to share the responsibility with him. America was a large child himself but Britain supposed that mean a playmate for the little one but then … Bloody Hell! France!

"That concludes this meeting," Germany announced and Britain realised that he had not heard a single word of the meeting so he would have to borrow someone's notes. "Everyone can leave for the day."

"Last one to the bar is a unawesome douche-bag!" Prussia announced and everyone stood up while Britain went over to America.

"America," he said. "I need a word with you and France if you could spare a moment." Both America and France had a 'fight or flight' look on their faces.

"Sure, Iggy," America replied, although he sounded like he wished he was elsewhere. France looked equally discomfited.

"Oui, Angleterre," he said. "I have something to tell the two of you any way."

"Same here, dudes," America told them. Britain wondered if they remembered anything about Vegas so he was interested in what they had to say. They waited until they were the only ones left in the room before speaking.

"I really need to know what happened in Vegas, chaps," Britain announced. "Trust me, it's important."

"I was gonna ask the same thing, Iggy," America replied. "I gotta know!"

"Oui," France agreed. "I'm desperate to find out as well."

"Well, I ask first," Britain said.

"Please, dude," America replied. "I really need to know."

"If you have any information, mes amis," France plead. "Please don't keep it from me!" They kept demanding information, begging back and forth until all three shouted at once...

"I'M PREGNANT!"

That shut them all up and they stared at each other. They were all pregnant! How was that even possible! Even if they all bottomed that night, the chances of all three of them getting pregnant was very slim. If possible at all.

"Are you sure?" Britain asked them.

"Yeah, dude," American replied. "I took a test and stuff."

"So did I," Britain replied, taking out the box with the positive test in and showed them.

"This is the brand I used," France said, looking at the box.

"Me too," America peered at the box. A thought occurred to Britain.

"Wait a minute!" he said. "Where did these tests come from?" Both America and France looked nonplussed.

"Mine was on my bedside table when I woke up," America replied.

"Mine too," France said. Britain looked down at the box in his hand.

"I know I don't make a habit of having pregnancy tests on hand in my house," he mused. "I assume you chaps don't either." Both America and France shook their heads. "So, where did they come from?" France looked at the box again.

"I've seen these before," he revealed. "I think I saw Prussia looking at them on-line." Okay! That raised a red flag.

"Why would Prussia be looking at pregnancy tests?" Britain mused. "And wasn't he and Spain, the other member of that idiotic trio of yours drinking with us the night before."

"Yeah," America replied as he thought back to that night before booze stole all their faculties. "Now that you mention it, those dudes were getting us drinks all night." France frowned.

"Does anyone remember how we got home that night?" he asked.

"No," Britain replied. America shook his head too.

"Not a clue, dude," he said. Britain took out his phone and connected to the internet and began tapping on it.

"Whatcha doing, dude?" America asked.

"I'm looking up the brand of pregnancy test," he replied as he waited for the search to finish. "Here we are!" As he read the screen, his face began going a funny shade of puce.

"THOSE GITS!" he screamed, turned on his heel and stormed out of the room while America and France hurried to catch up to him.

"Hey, what's up, Iggy?"

"Where are you going, Angleterre?"

"To brutally murder those two wankers you call friends!"

* * *

"Kesese!" Prussia chuckled as he sipped his beer. "I would love to be a fly on the wall in that room when they tell each other they're pregnant." Spain chuckled as he played with his own glass, remembering the night they got Britain, America and France blind drunk and left them in their beds with the positive pregnancy tests on their bedside tables. Prussia's idea, of course.

"It was a good prank, amigo," he said. "Imagine if they announced to everyone that they're all pregnant."

"I wonder how many of them used the second test, just to be sure," Prussia replied, still amused by his prank. "Just imagine, three men, peeing on pregnancy sticks!" He laughed again at the mental image.

"Still, I wouldn't want to be around if they find out that those test are joke ones that always show positive," Spain pointed out. "Especially Britain! The last time he was mad at me, he sank my armada!"

"And you're going to wish you sank with it, you Spanish git!" came the unmistakable British voice. "And you, Prussia, are going to wish that you disappeared when you were dissolved, you pair of wankers!" Prussia and Spain looked up into the furious faces of Britain, America and France, to whom Britain had explained about the pregnancy tests being prank ones that you can buy to play on people and they were no happier with Prussia and Spain than Britain, right now.

"Could you do this to me, mes amis," France demanded. "My perfect appearance is less than perfect because of all the sleep I've lost. You have committed a crime of unforgivable proportions!"

"I'm gonna introduce you to a friend of mine," America growled, whipping out a baseball bat (who even knows where he had it). "Have you met Mister Home-Run?" Germany, who was sat with Italy, a little way off, knew that his older bruder must have done something epic to piss off these three nations, one of whom was one of his best friends.

"What have you done this time, Bruder?" he demanded. Spain took hold of Prussia's arm and tugged on it, nervously.

"Amigo," he warned. "I think now would be a good time to relocate." Prussia gulped and nodded.

"Run!" he replied and the two of them bolted for the door.

"GET THEM!"

* * *

Everyone on the street turned to watch two men, screaming in German and Spanish, being chased by a swearing Brit, a cursing Frenchman and an American, waving a baseball bat. They chased Prussia and Spain for a mile before the police intervened and they were arrested for public disorder, threatening behaviour and America was charged with carrying an offensive weapon.

Their governments had to intervene because they could not have this going public and potentially revealing the existence of personifications to the public at large but they all got lectured for their behaviour by their bosses, including Spain for his part in kicking the whole thing off while Prussia got a hour-long lecture from Germany about immature behaviour. After that, Britain swore never to drink again.

Let's see how long that lasts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These fakes tests exist. I looked them up.


	5. A Hole in One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll tell you right now, it's nothing to do with golf.

 

  
  


** _**A Hole In One** _ **

 

Another stupid drunken night, another stupid drunken decision and he could not let anyone find out about this. Oh, the ribbing he would get! He was already dealing with the painful aftermath and had spent a quite bit of time since with ice packs on  _ the problem.  _ He could feel the pain now and he vowed he would never drink again, just like last time. And it _ had _ to happen the day before the World Meeting. Luckily, it was not something that was obvious so he could easily hide it. Something would have to go unluckily wrong for his little indiscretion to be discovered.

But Britain and Luck had never had the best of relationships.

The meeting was in Rome and Britain arrived at the building that the meeting was taking place in but, before entering, he adjusted his shirt so it was not rubbing so much on the sore part but he knew it would not last. If people found out what he had done to himself, he would never hear the end of it. Then Britain got the shock of his life when he was ploughed into from behind by a mass of uncharacteristically early blonde hair, blue eyes and leather bomber jacket, who had just come out of the rest room, and wrapped his arms around him and one hand unerringly hit his sore spot.

"IGGY!" America's enthusiastic greeting masked the little cry of pain that issued forth from between Britain's lips. "What took ya so long, dude?" Britain managed to disentangle himself from the clingy American and discreetly rubbed the painful area.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me..." Britain sighed as he knew America would never listen and continue to call him by that nick-name. "Never mind! Any way, I'm on time so a better question is, why are you so early? Bed on fire?" America shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.

"I'm sharing a room with Canada," he replied. "He said he'd sic Kumajirou on me if I didn't get out of bed. Bro can be bossy sometimes." Britain gave a little snort.

"At least someone can get you here on time," he muttered. "Who else has arrived?"

"Germany, Italy and Japan have arrived," America answered with England thinking __Of course!__ "Russia," America gave a frown when he said that. "And …..oh yeah! France." Britain rolled his eyes. Great! He had to deal with the Frog and his teasing language and, if he were to find out about Britain's little _mistake …..._ One wrong word out of France's mouth and Britain would throw him off the top of the Coliseum.

"Let's get this over with!" he declared and he went into the conference room, followed by America.

* * *

When Britain and America went into the conference room, Germany, Italy and Japan were stood talking in one corner, Russia was sat drinking vodka, watching them and, at first, France was nowhere to be seen until, once again, Britain felt arms come around him from behind and began to sensually slide up his chest.

"Bonjour, mon chèr," a French voice breathed in his ear as one hand got perilously close to his sore spot. Britain grabbed the hands and forced them away from him before they could reach the aforementioned problem area.

"It's a little too soon to start the groping, Frog," he snapped. "Are you desperate for an early fight or something?"

"Oh, Angleterre," France purred. "Don't you feel the  _ L'amour _ ?" Britain snorted.

"The only thing I feel are your wandering hands," he huffed. "And I'd rather not so, unless you want to feel my knee, Frog, I suggest you stop!" France took a step back with his hands up in surrender.

"Very well, Angleterre," he replied. "But you know you like it, really." Britain gave him the two-fingered salute and went to stand by one of the windows and America stood with him. Britain had a really bad feeling about today as the meeting had not even started yet and already, two nations had made a bee-line for his  _ problem _ , homing in like smart missiles, as unintentional as it was but it did not bode well for the rest of the day.

"Suck it, losers," a familiar voice called out as Prussia burst into the room. "The Awesome Prussia is here, bow down before my awesomeness!"

"Dude!" America greeted one of the two other thirds of the Awesome Trio and Prussia wandered over to the two English-speaking nations.

"Guten tag, awesome ones, though not as awesome as me," he replied, wrapping his arms around the shoulders of Britain and America and pulled them in for a bro hug. Britain held in a gasp of pain as his side slammed into Prussia, putting pressure on his sore spot. "Let's grab Denmark and go for awesome beer after the meeting." Britain groaned.

"I'll pass, thank you," he replied. He was still recovering from the last night he drank.

"Uh, oh," America laughed. "Sounds like Britain's already had a drinky night. Am I gonna find any embarrassing pictures on-line, Iggy?" Britain blushed.

_ " _ _ _ I hope not!" _ _ Britain thought. "O...of course not," he stammered. Prussia kesesed.

"Something happened," he guessed. "You're bright red, UK! I, the Awesome Prussia, will find out what escapade you've been up to. I get the feeling it will be awesome blackmail material." That was the last thing Britain wanted to hear because Prussia was one of those who would get the most mileage out of the situation, next to France. Britain crossed his fingers that he could get through the meeting without any more happening to make anyone suspicious.

"Okaaay," America dragged out. "Now I wanna know! This sounds juicy."

"Nothing happened," Britain lied. "Now, will you pair of gits drop the subject, the meeting's going to start." Germany, who always started the meeting for Italy (Romano could not be bothered), stood at the head of the meeting table and everyone began to take their seats.

* * *

Typical World Meeting as everything went south like usual. Britain's temper was strained as time seemed to drag while he waited for the meeting to be over. The obligatory 'Black Sheep of Europe' insult had issued forth from France's mouth which resulted in Britain shoving one of his scones in France's mouth which ignited either laughter or sympathy, depending on the disposition of the watchers. America went off on a tangent about genetically engineered superheroes and got scorned at. Again! Japan backed America and earned Switzerland's scorn. Again! Canada got sat on by Russia. Again! Italy was yelling Pastaaaa! at regular intervals and Germany finally had his obligatory aneurysm and screamed at them all to SHUT UP! AGAIN!

Either the temperature in the room or Britain's core temperature was rising but either way, he was being to sweat so he remove his jacket and sat back in his chair but soon he realised what a mistake he had made. And the first one to see it was the usually unobservant America.

"Iggy, dude," he said with a note of concern. "Is that blood?" America was staring at the upper right side of Britain's shirt and Britain looked down. Spots of dark red stained the white shirt he was wearing and he groaned, hoping to brush through this.

"It's nothing," he insisted but he reckoned without America's hero complex.

"Dude, you're bleeding," he exclaimed and now everyone was looking at them. "You might need medical attention. Don't worry, Iggy, I'll save you, I'm the hero!" He reached for the buttons on Britain's shirt. "Let me see!" Britain tried to shove America's hands away.

"I don't need help!" Britain insisted. "There's nothing wrong, stop it!" But America managed to grab Britain's shirt and pulled it open. The room went silent as everyone stared at Britain's chest.

"Angleterre," France said, at last. "You had your  _ _ nipple _ _ pierced?!" Britain went red and pulled his shirt closed, hiding the sight of the barbell piercing in his right nipple.

"Dude, that is so cool!" America cheered. Britain scowled.

"I was drunk, all right!" he fumed. "I got drunk and went and got it pierced. I don't know what I was thinking at the time."

"Kesese," Prussia chuckled. "It wasn't 'I must keep abreast of things', was it?"

"You should be a golfer," France joined in. "You've got a hole in one!"

"And here we go," Britain huffed. "I knew the teasing would start if anyone found out. Well, I'm not staying here to be made fun of." He picked up his files, put them in his briefcase and stood up.

"Awwh, dude," America wanted to know more about the piercing. "Don't go!" But Britain was determined. If he stayed out of sight long enough, perhaps one of the other nations would do something stupid and everyone else would forget about his little drunken escapade.

"I'm sorry, America," Britain replied at his one-time colony. "If I stay, I'll get all the jokes. Thanks but I'll pass." And Britain stormed over to the door.

"Wrap up warm, Angleterre," France smirked. "It's a little  _ _ nippy _ _ out there." Britain stopped at the door.

"You should worry about that more than me, Frog," he replied. "After all, your Eiffel Tower shrinks six inches in cold weather." And he enjoyed the laughter he heard at France's expense as the door shut behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll find it hard to believe but I know someone who did this. They didn't stop hearing about it for quite some time.


	6. The Night Before!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curse of Social Media is about to bite Britain in the butt.

 

** _**The Night Before!** _ **

  
  


Britain groaned. It felt like someone was sticking a corkscrew into his brain and he had not even opened his eyes yet. His stomach felt like a washing machine in mid-wash cycle, turning over and sloshing around and threatening to crawl up his throat and make an escape. All the familiar signs of a colossal hangover and, as there had been a World Meeting and they always went out for a drink afterwards, that was nothing unusual and Britain decided to just lay in his bed until he felt better.

Then he realised that his covers were missing and his mattress was thin and, for some reason, plastic covered. There was also a weird smell of bleach fighting a losing battle of covering the stench of urine and other things that Britain did not want to guess at. He cracked open an eye, fighting the spike of pain that shot through his head and found himself in a small room with plain walls, lit up by weak light coming from a strip of window above his head, showing a single door with an eye slot and a toilet with a small wall providing privacy, making Britain groan again.

It was not the first time he had woken up in a police cell after a night of drinking and he doubted it would be the last but it did not lessen the humiliation and he would probably get a lecture from his boss again about how his conduct would reflect badly on the country and, frankly Britain could do without the earache. Then he realised that he was wearing something strange and he looked down at himself to find he was wearing a kind of white overall that looked like what they dressed detainees in when the police take their clothing for forensic tes …...

Oh God! What had he done?

He pushed himself into a sitting position and held his aching head in his hands while all the worse-case scenarios ran through his brain, making it hurt even more. Had he hurt someone or worse? He was a gentleman and the idea that he might have forced himself on someone was abhorrent but he could think of no other reason why he would be in a police cell in a white overall, minus his normal clothing. There was a grating noise and Arthur looked up at the pair of hazel eyes staring at him through the now opened eye slot.

"Good morning, Mr Kirkland," said a voice that Britain vaguely recognised. It seems he had been in this particular police station before and the officer clearly remembered him. "Sobered up now?"

"What happened?" Britain groaned. "Where are my clothes? Why am I wearing this?" Britain was dreading the answer and the officer guessed what was going through Britain's mind.

"Don't worry, Mr Kirkland," he reassured. "Other than drunk and disorderly, you haven't done anything really bad. You're just wearing that because we had nothing else to put you in."

"Where are my clothes?" Britain could see the officer's eyes crinkle up in a way that told him that the officer was trying not to laugh.

"Well," the officer replied. "When you were brought in, you were ….. how should I put this …... without apparel!" Britain was relieved that he had not done anything truly horrible but, with his hangover, he struggled to understand what he was being talked.

"Are you saying," he said, slowly. "That I was  _ _ naked _ _ _ ! _ "

"As the day you were born," the officer smirked. "As a jaybird. not a stitch on, starkers, take your pick." Britain groaned.

"At least you didn't try to kiss the arresting officer like last time," the officer twisted the knife a little and Britain groaned again. "Or jump into the fountain in Piccadilly Circus, screaming 'I'm the dreaded pirate Captain Kirkland' and then start drowning," Britain hid his head as all his past indiscretions were laid bare.

"Just kill me now!" he moaned.

"Any way," the officer said, opening the door, showing brown hair and a police uniform and holding out a bundle. "Your friend brought your clothes in so, as soon as you're dressed, we can kick you out of here."

"Which friend?" Britain asked, taking his clothes. Whoever it was, it was going to be embarrassing.

"Blonde, glasses, loud and American," the officer replied. Great, America! Britain thought. Well, at least it was not France. "Give a knock when you're dressed and we'll let you out." The door closed and locked again and Britain began to change, wondering why he had been missing his clothes in the first place.

* * *

The officer went to the front desk where America was waiting for Britain.

"He'll be ready in a minute," the officer said. "He has no idea how he lost his clothes last night." America grinned.

"Dude can party," he laughed.

"I know, I saw it," the officer laughed. "I don't envy you breaking the news to him."

"I hear ya," America replied. "He's a pretty proud guy. When he finds out, it's gonna be spectacular!"

* * *

After Britain was dressed and brought out of the cells, he was given a caution and waved off with a 'see you next time', apparently the police were getting used to Britain's drunken antics. They got into America's car and pulled away with America trying to get to grips with driving on the left.

"America," Britain said. "What happened last night? How did I end up getting arrested without my clothes?" America gulped.

"Err.....how much do ya remember about last night, Iggy?" he asked. Now Britain was worried.

"I remember we all went for a drink and ended up in Soho," he replied. "And all of you dragged me into a s…..." Then he remembered where they went." …... What did I do?!" America gulped again. He wished he could tell Britain that it was not how it looked but it was actually worse.

"Well...," America was trying to think of how to tell him this. "You had a few drinks and …..." He stalled.

"And …...," Britain said, darkly as America pulled up outside the hotel the countries were stay at.

"It's better that I show ya," he replied and they got out with Britain terrified of what he was going to find out. Of course, the first person they encountered was France.

"Well, well, well, Angleterre," he purred. "I must say I enjoyed your little show, last night. Perhaps you can give me a  _ private _ performance......l _ ater! _ "

"What are you prattling on about, Frog," Britain snarled. France smirked.

"Hon hon hon," he laughed. "So  _ mon petit lapin _ doesn't remember,  Amérique !. This should be fun!" Britain felt even more scared than he had before.

"What is he talking about, America?" he said. America coughed, nervously.

"Let's go to my room," he replied. "And I'll show you." And he lead the way to the elevators.

"I almost don't want to," Britain said but followed America anyway, with France tagging along, still hon hon hon -ing and muttering things about wanting to see Britain's tattoo again and what an interesting place it was in.

The elevator opened to reveal Prussia taking up space inside and his eyes widened when he saw Britain standing beside America and elbowing France to stop him from groping him and Prussia gave his usual smirking smile.

"Kesese, Britain," he said. "I almost did not recognise you with your clothes on."

"Ha ha, Prussia," Britain retorted. "Now if someone would just tell me what happened last night ….."

"You mean you don't know, Britain?!" Prussia's smile became even more smirky, if that were possible. "Kesesese, this is going to be awesome, I'm not missing this!" So Britain had another witness to whatever humiliation he was about to under go as they all piled into the elevator and took it to America's floor. They departed the elevator when it stopped and opened, walking down the corridor with some of the other countries standing around and talking. They turned to look as Britain walked by, making him feel self-conscious. China looked disapproving while Russia looked like he wanted to  _ become one _ . Japan suddenly had a nosebleed while Romano muttered, "Stupid, naked Tea Bastard."

"Why is everyone staring at me?" Britain demanded of America and the corridor went silent.

"Does Britain-san not know, Amerika-san?" Japan asked with a blood-spotted handkerchief to his nose.

"Ah no," America replied. "He doesn't remember that part." Romano rubbed his hands and jumped with excitement.

"Chigi!" he exclaimed. "This is going to be f**king fun! Come on, everyone, there's no missing this! I'm going to get the Tomato Bastard." and he disappeared into one of the room where he shouted, "Hey Spain! Hasta la pasta, you lazy jerk, get out of that bed! Britain going to have the sh*t embarrassed out of him!" Britain turned to America who cleared his throat, nervously.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Britain commented. America said nothing and continued on to his room with Britain and the other countries in his wake.

* * *

Canada looked up from his laptop as the door to the room that he and America had been given opened and America walked in, followed by Britain and the other countries while Canada went a little red at what he had just seen on-line.

"Hey, bro," America greeted, sitting down beside him. "Mind if we borrow your laptop, Mattie?" Without waiting for an answer, America grabbed the laptop and was about to start typing the keys when he realised that what he was looking for was already there and he looked back at Canada who went a little redder. He took it to the beginning and pulled Britain down beside him.

"Now, Iggy," he warned. "Don't blame us for this! Someone else recorded it and uploaded it ….."

"Wait!" Britain interrupted. "Are you telling me this is  _ _ on-line? _ _ " He did not know why he was surprised, anything that happened these days was on Social Media two seconds later. A  _ kesese  _ could be heard among the countries, waiting to watch the show. America blushed and hit play.

Britain saw himself on the screen, on some kind of stage with lights flashing and music playing to a cheering crowd. He clearly drunk as he staggered around and his jacket was already gone and he was trying to remove his tie in a sexy way but it was spoilt by the fact that he was struggling with the knot but he persevered and finally removed it and threw it to the cheering throng. Britain could already guess how this was going to go.

"Of Bloody Hell, NO!" he screamed, hiding his face in his hands.

"Kesesese!" Prussia chuckled. "Keep watching, Britain. You don't want to miss any of it." Britain did not want to watch but it was like watching a tragedy unfold, you could not look away. Britain on the screen had begun to unbutton his shirt and managing to do it seductively, if not drunkenly and France could be heard shouting in the background, "Oui, Angleterre! Work it!" Britain turned to give the French nation the death stare while France became lost in the fond memories of the night before. On the screen, Britain had removed his shirt, bearing his torso, and swung it around his head a number of times before throwing it to the audience who cheered him on with shouts of 'Take it all off!'.

"Yeah, Iggy!" Came America's voice off-screen. "Go for it!" America shrunk down in his seat when Britain turned to glare at him. On screen, Britain was doing, or trying to do a sexy little dance with a drunken little butt wiggle to more cheering from the crowd and there were flashes of light like that of a camera.

"Keep going, Britain-san!" came Japan's voice from the laptop and Britain turned to stare at the usually polite and proper Japanese man in shock.

"Apologies, Britain-san," Japan said, turning red. "I was a little intoxicated, most regrettable." There was a 'woo' from the crowd on the video and Britain turned back to see himself undoing his belt, pulling it from his trousers and throwing out into the crowd after his shirt then removed his shoes and socks, one by one and threw them in different directions.

"Ja! Go for it!" That was Prussia, of course. Britain on the screen did go for it and began to undo his pants. He turned his back to the audience and bent down as he pulled his trousers down over his butt, taking his underwear with them, revealing a firm butt and a tattoo over his right buttock of a heart with the Union flag and the Star-spangled Banner on each side and words in the heart itself.

"Woo-hoo!" came America's voice from the laptop again. "I knew you really liked me, Iggy! …... Wait, why does it say Arthur and Francis?"

"Hon hon hon, Angleterre!"

"DON'T TOUCH ME, FROG!"

"Why does it say that, Iggy?"

"I was drunk, blame Scotland! AND STOP CALLING ME IGGY!"

"Whatever, Artie!"  _ _ Groan! _ _

 

On the screen, Britain still had his back to the camera and he brought his hands down in front of him as he looked over his shoulder at the crowd who were chanting S _ how it all! Show it all! _ Britain wanted to sink into the ground, praying that he had not gone that far but Britain on the screen turned to face the crowd. He had a slight build but it was toned and attractive but one part of his body was hidden by his hands and Britain prayed that it stayed that way.

 

_ _Show it all!_ _

No, please don't!

_ _ Show it all! _ _

God, no!

Britain on the screen gave the audience a drunken grin, threw his arms out to his sides and Big Ben was exposed for all to see and was greeted by a massive cheer.

Britain screamed in mortification and crossed his arms over his eyes while America turned the video off.

"WHY?" Britain wailed. "I KNOW I WAS DRUNK BUT WHY DID I DO THAT?"

"Kesese," Prussia laughed. "It was a bit of dare. France said you were too much of a prude to strip in public and the next thing we knew, you were up on stage giving it your all." Britain turned to glare at France with an expression that promised dire retribution.

"I might have guess this would be your fault, you snail-slurping, cheese-eating, surrender monkey," Britain snarled, looking ready to jump over the couch and strangle France. "Thanks to you, I'm the laughing stock of the internet …." He turned back to America. "How many views does this have? It might not be too late to have it taken down before too many people see it."

"Sorry, Artie," America said with a sheepish smile. "It's got over a million hits already and rising. That doesn't even include how many times it's been shared."

"A MILLION HITS!"

"Sorry, dude," America said. "Looks like you're the darling of the internet, look at these comments." Britain covered his eyes again and began to shake his head.

"No," he replied. "No, no comments!" But he was ignored.

_"_ _ _ Who'd have thought that such a slender guy would have such an impressive package!" _ _

 

_ " _ _ _ Is this guy in the next Full Monty film? He should be, lol!" _ _

 

_ " _ _ _ Cute butt!" _ _

 

_ " _ _ _ I'd tap that!" _ _

 

"Was that your comment, Frog?" Britain snapped. France just looked in the other direction and whistled.

"My boss is going to kill me!" Britain groaned, crossing his arms on his knees and dropping his head on them. France purred in his ear.

"Does that mean I don't get to see  _ our _ tattoo again, mon cher?" he was rewarded with an elbow to the gut.

"SHUT IT, FROG!" Britain shouted. "How did I end up in police custody?"

"Someone started a fight," America replied. "You ran out in the chaos and you were picked up by the cops a little way down the road. One of the cops recognised ya and called ya boss's office and they called me so I could go pick ya up." Britain groaned again, his boss was definitely going to kill him.

* * *

A few months later and the teasing was only just dying down but he still got the occasional 'nice arse' shouted at him across the street. As predicted, Britain's boss had torn a strip off him about his on-line performance and he had been told to keep a low profile until the furore died down which was why Britain was at home, rather then down the pub as his boss had put him on a pub ban for six months. He could drink at home but not among the ordinary populace, in order to cut down on any further possible public embarrassments so he was sat down in his front room with a glass of beer in front of the TV, watching a program that have camera crews following the police around. The police officers being recorded were in a police car on their way to a disturbance reported at a local strip club. As they drove and described where they were going and why, the camera picked up a naked man running past the car from the other direction. After a shocked moment, the car stopped and the police got out, followed by the cameraman as they ran after the naked man. Britain did a spit-shot with the sip of beer he had just taken.

He had a bad feeling about this.

The police caught up with the man and, despite his face and ….. other things being blurred out, Britain recognised the hair and the tattoo on the right buttock.

"Excuse me, sir," one of the officers said with a hint of laughter in his voice. "Could I see some identification please?" Britain groaned and took a big swig of his beer. No one told him there had been a camera crew when he was picked up by the police.

This memory of this escapade would not go away any time soon!

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop drinking, Britain!


End file.
